


I thought I'd be dead in a trunk by now

by madasthesea



Series: Nice work, kid [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Dehydration, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heat Stroke, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: Peter and Tony get kidnapped. Somehow, that isn't the worst of their problems.





	I thought I'd be dead in a trunk by now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bean_reads_fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bean_reads_fanfic/gifts).



> This is birthday gift for the talented and wonderful the-reverse-mermaid on tumblr, who loves a kidnapping fic. Title is a reference to John Mulaney's 'Street Smarts' skit in Kid Gorgeous and yes, I do feel a little bad about it. Also shout out to the random police procedural show I saw two minutes of that gave the idea for this.

He still isn’t sure how their kidnappers got the jump on them. Tony Stark, maybe—when he wasn’t in his suit he was as vulnerable as the next guy. But Spider-Man? Superhuman, sharp as a tack, danger sense bordering on precognition Spider-Man?

Tony’s pretty sure if he hadn’t been distracting the kid, he would have sensed it early enough to actually do something about it. But as it was, they don’t realize the trouble until a non-descript guy in a hoodie is jamming a needle into Peter’s arm.

Peter goes down like a limp noodle. Tony rushes forward, gauntlet half-formed on his hand, when something connects with the back of his head hard enough to make him black out for a moment. When he blinks the stars out of his eyes, it’s in time to watch dazedly as a second man winds duct tape around his wrists.

Peter’s still laying spread eagled on the sidewalk.

“What did you give him, horse tranquilizer?” Tony demands woozily, being manhandled so his ankles can get the same tape treatment.

“Yeah, actually. Can’t have Spider-Man waking up mid-drive, can we?” the first guy responds. Tony’s blood turns to ice. Peter isn’t in his suit. They were just walking down some block in Manhattan, going to lunch together.

They tape his mouth next.

Tony finally gets himself together enough to fight back when it’s already too late. He’s trussed up head to foot and the most he can do is squirm around and shout muffled profanities as they grab Peter and toss him in the trunk of a beat up old sedan.

He’s actually relieved when they grab him under the armpits and by the feet and throw him in as well. At least he’s still with Peter.

They slam the trunk closed and the panic sets in.

It’s pitch black in the car boot and the air is already stuffy from early summer heat. Tony’s head is swimming, his eyes watering from the pain of what is certainly a concussion. As he lays still for a moment, he can feel blood trickling down his neck.

The car starts, the motion of it pulling away sending Tony sliding backwards against the wall and Peter slamming into him. The weight pins Tony’s bound hands awkwardly between them and he groans as his left arm protests the position.  

They turn a corner and Peter rolls away again. Tony takes the opportunity to reach up and pull the tape off his mouth. He gulps in a few deep breaths and tries to get his bearings.

He checks on Peter first. Tony reaches forward and blindly feels for Peter, his hands connecting with the kid’s face. He traces downward a few inches to his neck and he settles two fingers over the pulse point there, the even tempo calming Tony down slightly. With the way Peter had collapsed, Tony had worried that the kidnappers had overdosed him.

Step two, get out of here. The air is already getting thicker as they both breathed in the limited oxygen, and Tony’s already sweating from the heat. Gingerly shifting onto his back, Tony raises his hands to the roof of the trunk, groping for the interior trunk release. He methodically runs his hands along the rough carpet, trying to cover every inch so he doesn’t miss it, but after checking three times it’s obvious that there isn’t one.

Tony had kind of expected that. The car might have been built before the escape tab was mandatory. Or they’d removed it and welded over the mechanism. He has a sinking feeling it was the latter.

The car brakes suddenly and this time it’s Tony that crushes Peter against the back of the trunk.

“Sorry, kid,” Tony mutters. Peter’s head lolls sickeningly against Tony’s shoulder, his forehead colliding hard with Tony’s chin. “Ow,” he adds drily.

The car turns again and then accelerates, tossing the two of them around. Tony groans quietly as they finally seem to settle. His back is killing him from being cramped in the too-small trunk, he’s gotten a few of Peter’s bonier limbs jammed into him, not to mention the persistent throbbing of his head. That, combined with the jostling from Toad’s Wild Ride, is enough to make him have to keep swallowing back bile.

“I really wish you were awake, Pete,” Tony whispers. Then he tells himself to stop wasting oxygen by talking and get to work.

He spends a few minutes trying to undo the tape around his wrists with his teeth, but he can never get a good enough angle. _Whatever_ , he thinks, rolling his eyes. He can still save them with his hands and feet taped together.

It takes some shifting, but he manages to angle himself so that his feet are toward one of the brake lights. It leaves his head resting on Peter’s stomach and his shoulder digging into the kid’s ribs in a way that would probably hurt if he were conscious enough to feel it.

“Sorry about the bruises, bud,” Tony can’t help but say. Then he gathers himself, pulls his knees up to his chest, and kicks as hard as he can.

The impact reverberates up his legs and Tony swears in pain. Is it just him, or are taillights not supposed to be that hard to kick out? Attributing it to his concussion and weakened state, Tony takes a deep breath of hot, stale air and tries again.

The lights still don’t give and Tony drops his head back against Peter’s stomach and gasps in pain for a moment.

“What the heck?” he whispers. Twisting around, he reaches his hands toward the other side of the car, feeling the opposite brake light. Instead of the carpeted interior he expected, Tony feels the familiar seam of metal plates that have been welded together. He traces along the wall of the trunk and realizes the entire thing has been reinforced.

 _Of course,_ Tony thinks dully, sweat dripping into his eyes. You can’t throw two superheroes into an ordinary trunk and think it’ll hold them.

Painstakingly, Tony rights himself so he’s laying next to Peter again. His mouth is dry, his breaths shallow. His entire body is slick with sweat, and when he slides a little closer to Peter, he can feel that his is too.

If they don’t get out of this trunk soon, they’ll roast to death.

He’s glad, now, that Peter isn’t awake for this.

As if in answer to his thought, Peter groans.

“Pete?” Tony asks, his voice cracking from his dry throat. Peter shifts minutely, the barest brush of motion against Tony’s side.

“Mis’r S’ark,” Peter slurs. “Wha’?”

“We’re locked in a trunk, buddy,” Tony admits. Gosh, this is all his fault. He let a stupid little bump on the head stop him from protecting his kid.

“Can’t move,” Peter pants.

“Yeah?” Tony asks, trying not to let the fear he feels at those words color his voice. “They gave you some pretty intense drugs, kiddo. I’m surprised you’re awake.” Now that he’s listening to his own speech, he can tell he’s slurring as well, exhaustion creeping through his limbs.

“’S hot.”

“Sure is.”

“Trouble?” Peter asks weakly.

“A little bit,” Tony concedes. “But you know me, kid. I’ll figure something out.”

Peter hums, his head falling against Tony’s shoulder.

Shared body heat is probably the last thing they need right now, but Tony desperately wishes his hands weren’t bound so he could hold Peter. Instead, all he can do is rest his fingertips along Peter’s jaw.  Sweat gathers in the crook of his neck where Peter leans on him, but Tony doesn’t tell him to move.

After a few minutes, Peter is asleep again, the tranquilizer still working through his system. The heat and concussion are working on Tony, too. He’s fighting for every minute of awareness. The car is still running, their kidnappers either unaware or unconcerned that their captives are slowly suffocating in their trunk.

As the last of Tony’s consciousness slips away, he turns his face into Peter’s curls, pressing his lips to the crown of his kid’s head.

 

He comes too when the car swerves wildly, sending both Peter and Tony crashing into the side of the trunk. Tony hits his head again and his vision whites out.

 

He wakes up again to blinding light and fresh air. He’s dizzy and disoriented, and there are familiar hands around his biceps, pulling him out of the trunk. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his swimming vision.

The first thing he sees is Peter laying limp on the asphalt, Captain America giving him frantic chest compressions.

“No, Peter!” he tries to shout, but his voice is wrecked from fear and dehydration and all that comes out is a hoarse whisper. He sinks to his knees, the hot pavement burning through his jeans. Rhodey is the one supporting him, and the one that holds him back when Tony tries to lunge for Peter.

“No, no, no,” Tony whimpers.

“Let him work,” Rhodey orders. Tony collapses against Rhodey’s chest, watching in utter devastation as Steve tries to get Peter’s heart started again. If he had any water left in him, he probably would have cried.

As the seconds ticked by, and Tony’s world shatters more and more, he dissolves into dry hiccupping sobs.

And then Peter breathes. Steve sits back, quietly assuring Peter that he’s ok. Peter opens his eyes, groggily looking around. His eyes meet Tony’s and he tries to sit up.

Tony is out of Rhodey’s grip in a flash, pulling Peter into his arms. Someone has removed the tape from his wrists and ankles he notices distantly, and then immediately casts the thought from his mind, concentrates only on the way Peter is shivering in his hold.

“Peter,” Tony says. “Peter.”

He tucks Peter under his chin and doesn’t let go, not when Steve and Rhodey lead them to the quinjet, not when the medics examine them both, not when they both fall asleep in the medbay, still bloody and dirty, but still together.


End file.
